


Under a Blue Moon

by rareisthislove



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Arden Shelby needs a bit of therapy, Father-Daughter Relationship, Like Father like Daughter, Sort Of, Tommy Shelby Has a Daughter, Tommy is a self centered little shit, Tommy's daughter is a sharpshooter, okay maybe A LOT of therapy, she never misses, so is Arden
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28973328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rareisthislove/pseuds/rareisthislove
Summary: Arrow House had been the grandest home the name Shelby had ever known, but it wasn't her home. In fact, Arden felt as far from home as ever.(Arden Shelby in Season 3)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. gateway to hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arden has a small mishap in boarding school involving a boy and a fork, and Mr. Cabot decides it's time to call in the cavalry.

Arden groaned when she noticed her father's silhouette emerging from the shadows of the corridor. He held a briefcase between his fingers, one that made him look all upper-class and posh, and not at all like the racketeer from Small Heath that he actually was.

He couldn't fool her, though. Not ever. She saw right through that act of his. She saw through the outrageously priced shoes, and the Bentley that was undoubtedly parked right outside the building. And she could bet that deep down, rattling within the deepest crevices of her father's soul, there was still a trace of the man he used to be. The man who would stray to whatever means necessary to get what it was that he wanted—and in that moment, it seemed that all Tommy wanted was to consume the livelihood of his daughter.

His stare was hard as ice, narrowed right in her direction, and it left her bones feeling more like stones, weighing her down against her chair until she gathered the courage to speak. Or to pretend he wasn't there. 

She needed a distraction so she focused on the chair instead, how oddly firm it felt, leather-bound and chipping from years of use. For the amount of money her family copped out on donations, she'd thought it was strange, how uncomfortable the chairs were. She made a mental note to raise her concern to Headmaster Cabot sometime later in the day, when her father wasn't staring at her as if she'd shot the woman he loved or something.

Granted, she may've been warranted a deathly stare or two.

She'd not only managed to get Tommy summoned down from Warwickshire to London, but she was also the reason he'd been pulled from an important business meeting, and that, more than anything, was why she sat outside Cabot's office, gawking down at her stupid uniform because she couldn't work the nerve to face her father. _Fucks sake_ , she hated cardigans, and she really hated the color yellow, and when the two were paired with her pitiful plaid skirt, she felt like an utter fool under his stare.

With every breath he took, Tommy was continuously reminded of the important meeting he had today, and, well, every fucking day. The last thing he needed was to be called down to the headmaster's office because his daughter couldn't find it in her to follow the rules. He wanted nothing more than to handle her as he did his men, barking orders and shouting until she listened and he turned red in the face, but then he'd be nothing more than his father. It also didn't help that Arden looked exactly like her mother, and even with Noami, he'd never been able to hold her accountable for anything, either.

Underneath the feeble lighting, Tommy noticed that Arden had grown sometime between now and Christmas, the last time he'd seen her. She sat a bit straighter, and her hair was— _white?_ _Was her hair fucking white?_ He wondered when she had the time or resources to rid of her ebony color, and who had allowed it in the first place. Then he reminded himself that the only reason he'd noticed was because of the headmaster's call, not because he had willingly took the time to visit, and admittedly, that made him feel like an even worse father than he thought he was.

Likewise, Arden hadn't seen her father in months, since his repugnant engagement during the holidays, and she couldn't help but notice the faintest gleam of silver in his hair that told her he was not doing any better than she was.

Breaking the teenage girl from her thoughts, Tommy spoke first because somewhere between his anger and his bout of regret, he remembered that he was the parent, and occasionally, he had to be the one to put his pride aside.

"Why am I fuckin' here?"

"Why don't you ask the headmaster?" She suddenly remembered that she too could narrow her eyes. So she did. "You pay great money to this posh school, should at least try and get your money's worth."

Tommy's fingers twitched at his sides, but before Arden could hear any of his shit, the door opened, interrupting them.

"Mr. Shelby, we're glad you could make it so quickly." Headmaster Cabot was a round man, round and little, and perhaps Arden would've been a bit more frightened of him if she were a three-course meal rather than a puny student.

"Yeah," Tommy grunted, making his way past the man who'd stepped aside long enough to allow the father-daughter duo inside his office.

As she stood from her uncomfortable seat, Arden considered her options. There was a decent enough chance she could make a getaway. She knew her father, she knew him very well, and he would never try and run after her in front of the headmaster like some sort of mindless bloke, and as for Mr. Cabot, well, he wasn't exactly a man of exercise, and his over-indulged stature couldn't catch her if he'd tried. That being said, if she rounded the corner fast enough to lunge through the—

The door shut with a poignant creak before she had the chance to finish planning her escape. Just like that, Headmaster Cabot had closed it, unknowingly sending her to her untimely demise.

Tommy took a seat on the chair across Cabot's desk, nodding as if he wanted to address the situation and discard it just as quickly.

"There was an occurrence in the dining halls today," Headmaster Cabot began, glancing between the father and daughter, frowning when he noticed their coinciding stares, slightly different in shade but blazing through him all the same, as if they could see right past his darkest secrets.

"Right. I imagine that's why I've been summoned to London," Tommy nodded again and the action was so predictable that Arden wanted to slam her head against the desk and call it a day.

"Yes, right, of course," Cabot toppled over his words, a nervous wreck, really. "You see, your Arden is an exceptional student, really bright..."

Arden rolled her eyes because after many long years, she had yet to meet someone who didn't falter under the stare of her father. She leaned forward in her chair, sympathizing for the old bloke who could barely string together two sentences in front of the Great Tommy Shelby. "Let's cut to the chase, yeah?"

Tommy turned in her direction, and the expression on his face should've scared her. Actually, it probably would have if she'd seen him more than a handful of times since Christmas. Before he could mutter a single word, or worse, say nothing at all, Cabot finally regained his sense of worth and addressed the situation.

"Well, to put it rather bluntly, Mister Shelby, Arden has injured a fellow student—um, _maimed_ , if I may."

Arden cowered in her seat because she knew there was very little that could save her from damnation now.

"She..." Tommy paused, a crease embedding itself between his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, _she what?_ "

Cabot struggled because there was really no other way to put it. "She put a fork through a boy's hand."

Arden took in the room; the walls, the shitty chair—anything to keep herself busy. The office was rather large, and for the countless of other times she'd been called down, this was the first time she took in anything other than the cracks in the ceiling and the shabby carpet, ravished by the heels of one too many apprehensive students.

"Anything else?"

When Arden glanced up, she noticed the headmaster, who appeared taken back by Tommy's lack of concern, but she knew better. Oh, she knew much better.

"Mr. Shelby, I'm not quite sure that you understand. This boy will be in a cast for months. The doctors are saying he may never regain the use of his three fingers again..." Cabot continued, sweating profusely at the man before him, or, rather, the gangster. Tommy stood, grabbing his briefcase with one hand and Arden's backpack with the other.

"Thank you, Mr. Cabot. I'll make sure to deal with this at home."

Both Arden and Headmaster Cabot shared an uncertain glance. " _Home?_ "

"That's right." Tommy repeated, a bit pestered. "Do me a great favor and tell the boy's parents to send all of the necessary medical expenses to Arrow House. As for my lawless daughter, I'll be pulling her from the rest of the semester."

On the drive over to Arrow House, Arden sat in the very back of the car, silent and obedient. It wasn't until Tommy had pulled into the driveway and lit himself a smoke that he spoke up again.

"You stabbed a boy," he said it slowly, as if trying to understand why she'd done it in the first place.

"Don't say it like that," she peered out the window, watching the trees and the shrubs and the endless fields that looked nothing like her true home in London. "I didn't _stab_ him. Cabot was only being dramatic. I very gently pushed the fork into his hand, and from what I recall, there was barely a scratch!"

"So I'm not only raising a delinquent, but a liar now, too?"

 _You're not raising me at all_ , is what she wanted to say, but she knew better, so instead, she remained silent, silent and obedient, just like he wanted.

"Just explain to me why you did it, Arden."

And truthfully, she had stabbed that boy because he'd been asking for it, that indulgent little prick. He was some privileged kid who had never been taught any manners. He grew up careless and wealthy, and thought it was okay to set his hands on any girl he pleased. When Arden caught him mistreating some friends of hers that didn't have the nerve to speak up for themselves, she wanted to do what her instinct told her—take a razor to his eye—but she didn't. She only used a fork. She was no hero, she knew that, and her father knew that. Even if she tried explaining her truth, he would only think she was making it up as a justification for her actions, so she lied instead, and she didn't feel an ounce of regret as she did so.

"Because he looked at me the wrong way," she spat, proceeding to watch Arrow House emerge from the distance. As they neared closer and closer, she felt smaller and smaller, and she wanted to withdraw from the world until she disappeared completely into thin air. Maybe then she wouldn't have to deal with her father and his elusive stares and his intolerable fiancée and his bastard child.

"Let me see if I understand, here I am, working day and fuckin' night to try and make something of our name, and you decide to... _to what?_ Go off stabbing people like the cutthroat gangsters they already think we are?" Tommy shook his head because he knew that she was a smart girl, _a bright girl_ , as Cabot had put it, and she knew of the words spoken against their family because of who they were and where they came from. He gave her a chance to redeem herself, to give him a reason to believe in her, and she missed. And that was good. Now he didn't have to feel bad for handling her the way he was.

"What?" She bit into the air, a single word so sharp that it tore right through the tension between them. "Are bad things only acceptable when you do them?"

"Yes," he nodded because he had no shame, and even less energy to deal with her.

"I don't want to stay with you," she spat. "I don't want to stay in that depressing mansion of yours, with that horrible fiancée and that bastard child and—"

He stopped the car in the middle of the driveway. He didn't turn in her direction, didn't glance at her, he only pointed towards the door, mumbling lowly, "Get out of the car."

"Fuckin' what?"

"A nice, long walk to the front door might teach you some fuckin' manners." He spat. "In a single day, you've managed to interrupt me from my work, embarrass our name in front of Mr. Cabot, and deprive a boy from the use of his three fingers. Now get out."

She grabbed her backpack, hastily, and sat still for a moment, just to see if he would budge.

He didn't. He _never_ did.

"He's got _seven_ other fingers!" Slamming the door behind her, she leaped out the car and watched as he sped off without a care. She would probably pay for her comment later on in the day, but she didn't care. She had nothing more to lose anyway.

On the long journey to the front of the door, she huffed and groaned and sulked. She even went as far as believing the obnoxiously long driveway before her was actually a secret gateway to hell, and the further she trekked among skeletal trees and withered shrubs, the more probable her idea seemed. It would explain the cold energy that loitered around the mansion, as well as the countless number of luxury cars that circled the marble fountain. Every day, as her father's wedding neared, more and more folk were turning up to stay a night in the infamous Arrow House, and Arden could bet that one of them, if not all, had been desperate enough to sell their souls for a couple of extra pounds. The thought abandoned her as soon as reason kicked in. She had seen hell, and hell definitely did not belong to her father, who could probably go up against the devil on his weakest day and still manage to defeat him without drawing a breath.

She clutched the lapels of her backpack, humming once she reached the marble fountain, the halfway mark to the front door. Beside the marble stood a boy with a cap over his head. He was tall and broad and combing through a stack of bills that was most probably handed off by her father.

Arden walked until she was right before him—and then she dropped her backpack to his feet, dusting her hands for dramatic effect. "Go on and take this to my room, wherever that is."

"Excuse me?" The boy pocketed his money and lifted his head. Strands of golden blonde hair dusted over his electric eyes as he took turns looking between Arden and the bag that sat by her shoes.

Arden trailed her eyes down his questionable appearance, a tattered shirt and shriveled shoes. "You're the help, aren't you?"

He chuckled, but as Arden continued to watch him with an oblivious tilt of her head, he realized that the girl before him, with exceptionally round eyes, was being completely serious.

So he watched her right back.

"Something like that."

She squinted at the oddity but let it go on grounds of her arms fucking aching and her patience running warily thin. Turning around, she left the boy to collect her things and forced her way through the last final lunges to the front door. As soon as she entered, she was met with the sight of maids running around, preparing for the anticipated wedding that was only weeks away, the one she'd been planning on attending in order to appease her father enough to get him to leave her alone for the rest of time.

Her eyes then landed on the impossibly large family portrait centered above the staircase, sticking out like a sore thumb. Her stomach fell into knots as she stared at the frame of her father, his dreadful fiancée, and their youngest child, all painted with equally solemn faces and hanging right over the stairs so whenever someone had the pleasure of staying over, they'd know exactly what kind of pests they were bunking with.

Nameless boy stopped beside Arden with a lack of grace, dropping her things and peering over at her like she was going to burst into tears or something.

She rolled her eyes. "Are you going to stand there and stare at me all day?"

"Yes," he spoke, almost mockingly. "Watching pretty rich girls is what we servant boys do best."

She snapped her head from the portrait, focusing on nameless boy's smirk instead. _He wasn't the help_. Nobody on her father's payroll would dare talk to a Shelby in such a manner, not unless they wanted a razor to their eyes.

"Who are you?"

He pulled off the cap from his head, passing it back and forth between his palms. "Ash."

"Ash? As in repentance?"

"As in the Phoenix rising from the ashes," he corrected, his gaze running over her odd head of hair. He'd not ever seen a girl with such fair hair. "You're Arden, then? Arden Shelby?"

She smiled drily. "Well, I'm certainly not Charles Shelby, am I?"  
  
"Honest truth? All of us _servants_ around here thought you were a myth."

"Aren't you?" She retorted with a scoff. "Mr. Phoenix Bird."

Ash only turned, offering two fingers in farewell as he carried on off. "See you around, Arden Shelby."

With that, he was gone, and Arden had no idea where any of the bedrooms were. It seemed that Arrow House had been the grandest home the name Shelby had ever known, but it wasn't her home.

In fact, she felt as far from home as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapters are always foul, am I right?
> 
> The year is 1924. Tommy is 34ish. Arden is 16/17ish. Just close your eyes and pretend the math adds up. Also, this is my first fic here on Ao3 so let's see how this goes.


	2. you must reap what you sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tragedy of Arden. Quite literally.

_To be, or not to be? That is the question. Is it nobler to suffer through the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them?_ For all the times Arden tried to while away her focus in class by drumming her fingers along the desk, or scribbling shapeless doodles into her notebook, it seemed at least one thing had stuck with her. The Tragedy of Hamlet. Shakespeare's stirring play that pinned family against family, blood against blood, and ended disastrously for all parties involved.

It'd now been a handful of days since her father forced her to his home in Warwickshire. Also a handful of days since she'd spoken to anyone but a quiet woman named Frances, who, on her own accord, delivered the occasional cup of tea to Arden's room. Only minutes ago, the housemaid had brought over freshly baked pastries to the stables, which was where Arden spent most of her time when she wasn't holed up in the guest room-turned-bedroom that Grace had so benevolently offered her.

Biting into a rather dry piece of sweet bread, the blonde sat among stacks of surrounding hay and considered Shakespeare's lousy words. The more she gave some thought to her current situation, the more she grew restless. Growing up without a mother was hard, and Arden imagined it'd be twice as such without a father—even if supposed father was going to be wed to a crafty, inconsiderate little wench. And really, the only question worth mulling over was whether her selfish desire for the last word was worth losing her father over? _Probably not_. But she was a Shelby, and even more, she was the daughter of Thomas Shelby, so she knew nothing in this world if not for the torturous disdain of pride.

She could remember the first time she'd ever put pride before her feelings. Back when she was only ten-years-old, and her father had returned from the war four years later than promised. She sat by her windowsill, a small tear running down her cheek as she looked out into the lane, watching husband and wives reunite, sisters and brothers, fathers and their children. Oh, how badly she wanted to shove her way down to the train station, where Polly and Finn and Ada all stood, waiting on the men to return. But she moved not an inch. No matter how much her tears burned, they were nothing compared to the way her pride stung, like venom in her veins, so she held her ground, no matter how shaky it’d been. Tommy promised he’d only be gone for seven months, no longer. She'd even named her first horse in honor of that promise, but Seven died shortly after the eighth month of Tommy's absence, and it wasn't much of a shock to Arden nor Polly, for a horse branded upon a broken promise was considered a cursed horse in the eyes of the Romani.

But Arden was no longer ten, and she was acutely aware that all actions had their rightful consequences, even the ones forged from harrowing moments of vulnerability. _You must reap what you sow_ , and she intended to sow rather competently.

She wanted her father in her life, and she would even learn to share him if that's what it took.

Sighing, she tossed a handful of hay over to the horse on her right. She wished that making these sorts of decisions came easier for her. In a fleeting lapse of desperation, she had nearly considered flipping a coin for some answers, but decided against it. She figured her father deserved more chance than the toss of a coin, so here she was, hidden in the stables with two horses beside her, trying to force together some sort of firm decision.

One of the horses belonged to Grace, or, well, her father had bought it for his posh fiancée. He'd even named it _Grace's Secret_ , in commemoration to her scheming days as a copper narc. Arden wondered if there was a curse for _that_ —naming your horse after such an unfortunate situation. She made a mental note to ask Polly about it later.

Grace's Secret, for as beautiful as she stood, was as dishonorable as her namesake. A miserable, shaggy little thing that enjoyed whipping Arden in the face with her abnormally large tail. She kept far away from the beast, instead remaining with the brawny horse in the farthest corner of the stable. She had yet to learn his name, but he was beautiful, with eyes as grey as a prowling storm. His mane, reaching from the poll to the withers, was thick and coarse and held a brilliant dark hue. If only a bit brooding, the unnamed creature was still much better company than Grace's Secret.

"What about you, _bitti gras_?" Arden spoke, threading her fingers through his mane. She found a strange source of comfort in the action. "What do you think I should do?" The horse blinked as if he had to think about it. And then he neighed. The response was so quickly returned that Arden couldn't help but chuckle at the wryness of it all. "You're right. I should at least try and straighten things out with my dad before the wedding."

The horse offered yet another grunt and cuddled affectionately into her hands.

"I wish I knew your name," she mumbled, appreciating his endearment towards her.

After a few more amiable exchanges, Arden delivered her pleasant farewells to him while giving the finger to Grace's Secret and going about her way to try and make things right with her father. It wasn't like her to back down from a battle, especially with him, but she was so tired of pretending to despise everything and everyone, her bones heavy from the weight of his drilling stares, so she figured the best way to approach him was to approach Grace, with a _proper_ greeting, of course. That would show Tommy she was trying.

Rather impressed with her plan, Arden walked as fast as she could without appearing too improper. Thankfully, navigating the outside grounds of Arrow House was much easier than navigating the inside. All she had to do was follow the cobblestones until she reached the frontdoor, where she could enter and begin building her bond with Grace over expensive dresses, or maybe even the bastard— _fucking hell_ , she made another mental note to stop referring to her half-brother as the bastard from now on.

Before Arden had even noticed, she successfully made her way through the front doors, watching as the help turned to run their eyes over her unkempt appearance from spending the day in the stables. Her trousers were muddy at the ankles and her hair was tangled with straws of hay, but she was sure they'd seen worse. Especially from her father, who probably came home with blood splattered across his suit on a daily occasion. 

She ignored the housemaids, turning her stare over to the endless portraits of her father’s straight-laced family of three. Grace and the bas— _Charles—_ smiling, Grace and Tommy caught in an embrace, Tommy and Charles riding a horse. At that moment, it struck Arden that her plan might’ve been harder to follow than she initially expected. Seeing her father's new family and their overwhelming happiness seared into every inch of this house, it brought a twinge upon her stomach for the life she would never have. But with a slow, torturous exhale, she let it go. Yes, she was stubborn, and she was brutally honest, and she was abhorrently independent, but she still _needed_ her father. So she would have to suck it up and get used to this if she wanted him around.

"He's got a daughter, that Tommy of yours, doesn't he?"

Arden’s feet stuck to the ground as familiar voices swarmed the corridor. Peeking through the narrow crack in the doorway, she watched as Grace and her mother sat and conversed in what posh people would call brunch. Though, when she was a child, there was simply breakfast and dinner. Sometimes only one and not the other one. There’d never been enough time or money for more than two meals a day, and even _that_ was considered a luxury by Polly.

"Yes," Grace spoke rather grimly. "From his ex-wife."

"Ex-wife?"

Grace brought a napkin to her lips, elegantly wiping away any spare crumbs while her mother processed the startling information. "Were you not aware?"

Susan arched a penciled brow, surprised. "No! I could've sworn that daughter of his was a bastard."

Arden raised her chin in defiance.

"Arden's not a bastard. Not quite. Tommy married her mother a few months before she was born. It'd been some sort of silly teenage fling between them, nothing too serious, I presume."

"What was her name?" Susan raised a forkful of eggs to her mouth.

"Naomi. Naomi Levin." 

"Levin?" Susan set her fork down, a bit horrified. "That's quite..."

"Jewish. I know." Grace glanced down at her plate. "Naomi passed away when Arden was just a baby, and Tommy, a young man. Left the rest of us with the burden of raising her spawn. I mean, do you know why Tommy dragged her out from school this past week? For _incapacitating_ a boy!"

Arden remained behind the door, her fingers curling into fists at her side. "That wretched little—"

"Oh, child, don't you worry too much about that one," Susan Louise Odette Burgess, yes, _S.L.O.B_ , was treading a thin line. She waved her hand, seemingly unbothered by her daughter's recent revelation. "Seventeen, isn't she? Nearly an adult. As soon as you bring Tommy another child, a beautiful girl with a soft smile and eyes like yours, he'll have no room left in his heart for anybody else."

And that, well, that was really the last thing Arden heard before everything went _red_. She saw red. She felt red. And then she felt like a gullible little girl when she'd realized how stupid she was to have almost accepted Grace into her life. The woman was no fucking different than her horse.

Making her way into the room with fiery steps and a troubled grin, Arden immediately snagged the attention of both Burgess women.

"Oh, Arden! How wonderful, you've finally descended from your room!" Grace plastered a sweet smile to her lips. "Tell me, how are you enjoying the new wallpaper around the house—"

Before she could get another word in about her treacherous wallpaper, Arden's fingers flung right into Grace's face. The sound that echoed in the room, a short-lived but very audible _crack_ , was so poignant that Arden couldn't believe the action came straight from her. Susan gasped, the help stood silent, and Grace let out an ear-piercing scream that nearly popped Arden's eardrums.

"You horrid little girl!" Susan abandoned her eggs and jumped up from her chair.

"You should be relieved that my mother is dead," Arden ignored the older woman and focused solely on Grace. Her palm slammed against the table, her eyes spent and teeth barred, looking an awful lot like her father did whenever he needed to get his point across. "Because if she wasn't, you would've never had that bastard child of yours, or even be standing in this dreadful house that you consider so grand. In fact, you'd probably still be with that barren ex-husband of yours who couldn't stand the very sight of you."

And with that, Arden scoffed, leaving Grace heaving for breath, the help whispering amongst themselves, and Susan fucking bellowing as if her daughter had been threatened by a merciless killer instead of a teenage girl.

" _You_!" Susan pointed towards a poor woman who'd been hired only days ago. The maid gasped before looking up expectedly for a command. "You bring Tommy Shelby here. _Right. Now._ I don't care what business he's off doing!"

Arden rolled her eyes and turned to flee the room. But as soon as she did, her heart stopped and she froze. 

There he stood, at the end of the room, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed in her very direction. Her fucking father.

"Fucking hell," Arden mumbled under her breath. 

It was time to reap all that she had sown.

Surprisingly enough, her father had not yet dug up her grave. No. Tommy only ordered her to his office in ten minutes while he dealt with the repercussions of her actions against Grace and the mother S.L.O.B. Still, Arden was sure there was a great chance of burial by noon considering she was already late for his scheduled lecture. And really, it wasn't her fault. She'd only been in Arrow House once—no, wait, twice. Last Christmas, and then the one before. So after flailing around like a walrus on dry land, she thought it rather impressive that she stumbled across her father's office after only fifteen short minutes, no matter if she'd only found her way because some old maid couldn't stand watching her tread through the corridors with muddy shoes for much longer.

Leaning against the doorframe with her wild blonde hair all over place, knotted from her day in the stables, she took in her father's brooding silhouette. He was hovered over his desk, reading through a stack of papers, one hand circled around a glass of whiskey while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite his furrowed brows, he seemed rather calm, especially for a father who'd just found out that his child had given his fiancée a black eye only days before his wedding.

"Father," she almost winced at how formal she sounded to her own ears, but she also knew that this conversation would be fuck all no matter what she said, so the least she could do was get a decent head start and show her father that he'd gotten a bang out of his buck for her hefty school tuition.

Tommy glanced up from his paperwork, expecting to see Susan again, or maybe Grace, if she'd stopped crying about her forever ruined wedding pictures. But, no. It was only Arden. Only his daughter. The one who he'd forgotten was the sole reason for his unbearable headache and the mauve-colored bruise on his fiancée's eye.

"You're late."

She mumbled a string of incoherent curses underneath her breath because, yeah, she was late, but he could've made some sort of effort, too. Could've tried fucking looking for her or something.

Pushing herself off the doorframe, Arden took a few more steps into his office, carefully, as if the floor would split in two and descend her into the pits of hell that she knew lurked around in this God forsaken house. When she was absolutely sure that no flames were rippling through the grounds, she nodded, mostly to herself and partly to whatever higher power was protecting her from her father's current wrath. "I know you won't believe me when I say this, but I got lost. Really. This place is massive."

Tommy was silent for a moment, setting his crystal glass down and giving her his full attention for perhaps the first time in days. "I'm getting married, Arden."

But she already knew that, and she also knew that her father wasn't one to say something without calculated reason, _so why had he said it_?

She crossed her arms over her chest and tried her best to seem like she understood his intentions, even if she had absolutely no idea what he was going on about. "An event worthy of flowers, at best."

He nodded, expecting that sort of responsive. She was his daughter, and even though he hadn't seen her in weeks, he still knew her. You see, that sly grin might've been her mother's, and those eyes might've belonged to his mother, but that personality was all him. Attentive and sharp and stubborn—absolute hell on earth, if you asked him. "I'm getting married, and you punched my fiancée."

Arden opened her mouth, then closed it. She had to be careful with her next words. She might've been too old for the strap now, but that didn't necessarily mean her father didn't have other crafty ways to chastise her. "I'd like to argue that perspective is everything. You weren't there when Grace and Susan—"

"You punched my fiancée," he repeated to her, to himself, wondering what kind of fucking words there were for daughters who punched their father's fiancées.

"Your fiancée and that right cow mother of hers were yammering on about my dead mother," Arden hissed through clenched teeth. As soon as the words escaped, she damned herself for getting riled up so quickly. The last thing she wanted to do was play the _I_ - _have_ -a- _dead-mommy_ card, but it was true. The reason she had punched Grace was in honor of Naomi, and okay, fine, maybe because it felt nice to finally get some retribution after years of watching her importance dwindle thanks to Grace, but still.

"Right, fine." For a moment, Tommy pretended to believe her. "So tell me, _chavi_ , what do you think your punishment should be?"

Arden smiled drily. "Send me back to London. That'll show me."

Tommy didn't give her idea a single bit of consideration. Leaning back into his chair, he spoke again, "Your brother's birthday is coming up. Wouldn't you like to be around for that?"

"Half-brother," She corrected stubbornly. "And no, if it's okay with you, I'd rather not."

"Well, Katie and Finn seem to miss you, wouldn't do them any good to send you back."

"Letters are a fine exchange of communication."

Both of their eyes, so very stubborn and so very blue, narrowed at the other. Blood against Blood. Shelby against Shelby.

For however many posh words Tommy knew, his patience was another story. He beckoned his hand to the leather chair before him. "Sit, Arden."

"No," she refused, figuring she'd already done the worst, ruined the face of his pretty porcelain doll, so what more was there to really lose? "I don't want to sit."

Tommy stood from his seat, mindlessly waving his hands in the air as he walked over to his bottle of whiskey. "Fine, fucking stand, then."

She shrugged, taking the seat as soon as his anger peaked, and for good measure, she even propped her feet up on his desk. "So what's the damage for breaking your favorite toy? Shipping me off to another country? Picking me apart and feeding me to your enemies?" From his spot across the room, Tommy noted a certain mischief in her eyes. The same kind he'd seen in Ada when she was a teenager herself. " _Oh,_ let me guess, a weekend with the Solomons?"

"No, none of that," Tommy shook his head in one swift motion. "You're an adult now. I'm going to treat you as such."

For some reason, that seemed worse. Arden tore her feet away from his desk and leaned forward, feeling rather unsettled by his cryptic words. "What are you going on about?"

"Grace will be family soon—"

She tried to stop her mouth from speaking. She really did. 

"Is that what we're calling copper narcs now? Step up from rich girl, I suppose."

Tommy scoffed, tipping his glass in her direction. "Last I checked, you're no poor girl yourself, eh?"

Her skin burned at the mere insinuation. "I used to play two-up for a chance at bread and fucking lard for breakfast, so excuse me if I consider Grace and I two different sorts of privileged."

"Mind how you speak to me. I'm your father, it's not the other way around." Tommy slammed his whiskey against his desk, startling her into a tiny flinch. Anybody else wouldn't have noticed the faint action, but Tommy had. "You are crossing lines you don't want to cross."

"Since when were there lines between us?" She spat bitterly. "I could've sworn it was just distance." The irritation left his eyes when he blinked, and she could've sworn that she saw... _guilt_? Was it guilt, or was it sympathy? She couldn't tell, but still, she took the slight falter as the biggest win she'd receive from him. "But fine. I'll play along. What's my punishment?"

Tommy huffed at her words. Razor-sharp and unrelenting. _Just like her goddamn mother_ , he thought. _And just like me_. 

"I spent thousands of pounds on that boarding school of yours and they don't reprimand you for that mouth?"

"It's because you pay so much that they can't reprimand me, father." Arden pointed out with a small shrug.

If Charles were to turn out anything like Arden, Tommy knew that him and Grace would be utterly fucked. Grace especially didn't have the wits to deal with a child as backhanded as this one. He glanced around the room, unsure of what else there was for him to do. Arden was so unreachable. Even to him. _Perhaps if Naomi had been around..._

After a sigh, two, he started again. "Just tell me what it'll take for you to be happy here."

Arden spoke without any hesitancy. "A bullet in my head."

" _Fuck_ ," he let out through pursed lips. Pointing a finger in her direction, he spoke lowly, in what sounded like a growl. "Don't talk like that."

"Why not?" She raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, Grace's family wouldn't like it?"

"No, because your mother wouldn't have liked it." He spoke the words so fast, and Arden had processed them just as quickly. 

He never spoke of Naomi. Not when Arden was younger, and certainly not now, when he was engaged to another woman.

Swallowing back the lump in her throat, she whispered because she couldn't trust herself to properly speak without stumbling over her words. "Yeah, well, there's a lot of things going on that my mother wouldn't have liked."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Now you sound like Pol."

"The first wholesome words that have left your mouth all week," she looked away, her eyes still stinging from the mention of her mother.

Tommy inhaled a sharp breath. "I want us to make this work. Grace wants, or, well, _wanted_ you as bridesmaid."

"It's good for rich girls to want things," Arden offered. "Keeps them humble."

"I'm serious."

"Me too." 

"Fine." He accepted her raillery with a fleeting nod, realizing it wouldn't be changing anytime soon. This was exactly what she did. She pushed people away with wisecrack remarks and dry smiles. And he wasn't going to stand there and make any allowances for it. "You'll be having dinner with Grace's family tonight. That's your punishment. You'll apologize to Grace, her mother, the entire fucking cavalry for all I care, and you'll show them that you were brought up with some fucking manners, won't you?"

"Are you having me on?" Arden stood from her chair, dismissing the idea completely. "Nope. I won't do it. No, no, fucking _no_. And what're you going to do about it? Send me back to London? Do it. In fact, I dare you!"

"I'm not accustomed to being spoken to like that. Especially not by my daughter."

She laughed without anything being particularly funny. "Oh, please. We barely talk. You're not accustomed to being spoken to by your daughter at all."

"This is not a game you want to play, Arden. You don't want me as your enemy, not while you're living under my roof." He didn't quite raise his voice, or yell, even. But there was a certain roughness to his words that had warned her to take a seat and oblige his commands.

So naturally, she did the opposite, standing and snatching the glass from his hands, letting it fall from between her fingers to the ground. The action was so ruthless, so reckless that it'd disturbed even herself for a few seconds. But she did not back down. She was Hamlet. She was Tragedy. She was a Shelby. She was Naomi. She was Thomas. And as the crystal glass broke into tiny fragments at their feet, she continued, rigidly, orchestrating a story of her own, just as Shakespeare had done.

"You don't want me as yours."

She stepped over the glass and disappeared through the doors, leaving her father to himself, to think about what he was doing to her, to reap whatever it was that _he_ had sown.

And he stared for what felt like hours at the only framed picture on his desk—an image of his past love, Naomi, holding his firstborn, Arden.

"Hell of a kid we made there, Naomi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bitti gras: little horse.  
> chavi: child.
> 
> arden is a morally grey character with a long list of faults, if you couldn't tell. also, the warped communication between arden and tommy only goes downhill from here. buckle up.


End file.
